


Snow and Spiked Hot Chocolate

by Strings (fangirlgeekout)



Series: Human Domesticity [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Dean Winchester Works in an Office, Domestic Fluff, Hot Chocolate, M/M, Snow, Teacher Castiel, Tickling, Ticklish Dean Winchester, arguments over the legitimacy of curling as a sport
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-23 22:38:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13797801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirlgeekout/pseuds/Strings
Summary: Looks like Dean and Cas will be taking a snow day.





	Snow and Spiked Hot Chocolate

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted Feb 2014 on [Tumblr](http://wordstrings.tumblr.com/post/76595066771/ficlet-snow-and-spiked-hot-chocolate).

Something resembling Dean burst in the front door and stumbled a bit. It was hard to tell for sure, between the scarf up to his cheeks, the knit hat down to his brows, and the fur-lined hood crowding around the little bit of humanity that was still visible, all of it snow-crusted and shedding icy chunks with every step.

He caught the edge of the door and pivoted around it, pushed it closed with his body weight, and leaned heavily against it for a moment before forcing his legs to carry him a few steps further into the hallway. The hood was tossed back, flinging bits of ice over his shoulder, and he tugged the sweat-soaked hat off his scalp, ignoring the wet spikes of hair that remained plastered to his forehead. A pair of sopping wet gloves slapped the floor, one after the other.

Dean kicked off his heavy boots while unwinding the alternately hot-and-cold length of scarf from around his neck and face, hissing when one blind step landed him in a clod of snow that soaked too quickly into his already damp sock. The parka was unzipped in one quick motion, shed, and tossed onto the coat rack.

Castiel came padding out of the kitchen holding a laughably large mug. Tendrils of steam curled invitingly in front of his face as he regarded the exhausted-looking man who was peeling a flannel shirt off his torso like a second skin. The black undershirt it revealed was maybe a little too tight, and maybe a little damp, and maybe Cas stared a moment too long before extending the mug in offering.

“Spiked hot chocolate?”

”Oh my god I love you.” Dean wrapped his hands appreciatively around the hot ceramic and brought it toward his face, inhaling the steam. “Spiked with…?”

“Whiskey and irish cream.”

The noise Dean made was somewhere between pornographic and inhuman. He closed his eyes and sipped carefully, then ran his tongue over his top lip to clear the light foam that settled there. “Hnnmmmph.”

“Come sit down.” Cas walked a few steps into the living room and settled into one corner of the couch, hitching one leg up along the back. Dean gingerly maneuvered into place, guarding his mug from any jostling that might waste even a drop of the divine liquid that was quickly warming his belly, and sighed long and low when he leaned back into Castiel’s chest.

“How bad is it?”

“Eighteen inches at least. Probably two feet by the time the tail end hits overnight. It’s just really wet and heavy where the plows came by. Plowed in my baby,” he pouted. “I’m not sure if I’ll actually be able to get out of my parking space in the morning.”

“Take the day off tomorrow?”

“I can work from home. Brought my computer and notes with me from the office.” He nodded weakly toward the laptop bag leaning against the wall by the doorway. “Your school closed?”

“The district hasn’t made an official announcement, but I’m sure it will be.”

Dean hummed around the rim of his mug. “That means we can sleep in a little.” He tilted his head back on Cas’ shoulder and sighed contentedly.

Castiel smiled and kissed a trace of hot chocolate from the corner of Dean’s mouth. “Can you reach the remote? I want to check our medal count.”

“Noooo,” Dean groaned plaintively. “Then you’re going to leave it on  _curling_.”

"Curling is a legitimate thing to watch.”

“It’s not a real sport!”

“It’s in the Olympics, Dean; I’m fairly sure that qualifies it as a real sport.”

“Bullshit.”

Cas shifted his arms from where they were wrapped around Dean’s chest and curled them up to grip the front of his shoulders. “Real sport,” he mumbled into his partner’s neck.

“Nope.”

“Yes.”

“Negatory, ghost rider.”

“I’ll take that hot chocolate away from you.”

“You can try. And then you will suffer the consequences.”

Cas nuzzled down into his clavicle and nibbled along the bone.

“Still not a reaheheal sport.” Dean squirmed and held his mug protectively to his chest. The hands over his shoulders slipped down a little, and thumbs wormed into his underarms.

“Real.”

“Fa-hehe-hake…” he giggled. “You can’t - ah! - make it reaheheheal by sheer force of wihihihihill!”

“Watch me,” Cas growled into his neck.


End file.
